Unsent Letters
by Hikaru Morinaga
Summary: Heero's started many letters, but never felt the need to send them. They all start the same way, but all end differently. When Heero's marriage ends and he's got nowhere to go with his daughter in tow, he ends up on L4 with the help of Quatre. Where he goes from here, he's not sure, but things can only go up from here. Gen-fic. One-shot. Complete. Post-Endless Waltz.


**Unsent Letters**

Sometimes he wonders if anyone knows he's still alive. Has anyone tried looking for him? Do they even remember him?

The last letter he'd received had been from Quatre, about a week after the wedding, saying how much he'd enjoyed himself. That's also the last time—almost two years ago—anyone's seen him Earth-side. It's not like he had anywhere to really go, considering he'd been volunteered to stay at home and watch their daughter, and due to certain circumstances, it was best he lay low for a while. When not occupied with Adie, he'd certainly had time to write, mostly personal things kept to a notebook. Sometimes they weren't full sentences, just words. But he'd also taken up letter writing, whether for some therapeutic closure or what, Heero doesn't know.

He's started all sorts of letters, mostly to the same person. None of them get sent. He's not even sure if this person lives in the same place he used to, and why waste time mailing it only to get it returned to sender? As a result, most of them get crumpled up and burned later on in the kitchenette sink. He's burned himself with his lighter a few times, refusing to let what's left fall into the sink until the last possible moment. Sometimes he wonders if the man he left behind misses him, or if he's moved on with someone else, and if this is his way of trying to purge him from his mind, to try and forget about him. It's not like he can go back in time and change things.

_I should've chased after you_, he thinks, even though he knows it's too late for regrets. He watches the ashes smolder in the basin of the sink, watches the smoke dance and twirl in the air. Smoke can supposedly cleanse rooms, cleanse houses, cleanse souls, but why does he never feel like he's completely free? Why can't his soul be cleansed of all these memories?

He's spent two years contemplating what ifs and what could have beens. Spent two years replaying the same scene over and over in his head and he lies there in bed all alone with his daughter in the next room, his wife at some meeting or party or off in a completely different country—or not even on the same planet as him. What if...?

Now he's free to explore the what ifs and the what could have beens; he's no longer married, the divorce finalized yesterday morning. He's no longer in his room with the stiff, cold bed that was only really warm on his side. Instead, his daughter's asleep on the cot next to him as they're holed up in some shit motel with practically no money to get back to the place he calls 'home'. Despite the divorce being settled, he won't get his share of anything for the next ten days, and he's got no job prospects at all. There's no electricity at this place at night—hotels in the slums rarely do—so he uses the last of his laptop's battery life to send out an email to someone who might be able to get him out of here. He never wanted it to come to this, he hates having to ask for help. He drums his fingers on the laptop as he goes through his unfinished drafts.

He opens a blank template and gives little to no details whatsoever about his location or anything else save for what he needs—old habits die hard. Do not give out too much in case it's intercepted. He sends it out just before his laptop shuts down due to insufficient battery power and it's just him and a candle and a notebook with scribbles for words, all the while his daughter dreams. Of what, he has no idea. Maybe she's dreaming of the uncle whose name she can't correctly pronounce, but has never met. Maybe she's dreaming of the Colonies she's never seen, floating there in space among the stars. Whatever it is, she looks content.

Maybe she's dreaming of things being back to how they were, but Heero knows that that's wishful thinking. There's no going back now.

He takes up the pen and paper and writes another letter, hoping to pass the time until sleep decides to take him away for a few hours. It begins with "Dear Duo", ends with "please help me", but he scratches that out, because he's Heero Yuy, and Heero Yuy doesn't need help. Except that he does. He rewrites it to sound less desperate, unsure why he's bothering because this letter, like all the others, goes without being sent.

But it helps.

He wakes up, laptop more on the cot than on his lap, his back and neck aching from sleeping upright against the wall. He finds Adie watching television, a tiny bowl of what looks like cereal on the floor in front of her. Aside from the bed, there's not much else in the room, save the tiniest end table with a lamp and a phone, so Adie's situated on the floor. He opens the laptop and boots it, and once it's loaded and ready to go, he receives a "1 unread message" notification. In his inbox is, indeed, one unread message, and it's from Quatre, who says he wired money using the fastest possible money wiring service he could find.

"There's enough money for food, various supplies you might need, and of course a shuttle ticket," Quatre says in the email, along with information on what colony in the L4 cluster he should get a ticket for. "Shoot me an email when you've got your ticket with all the details, I'll meet you at the port." Heero shuts the laptop lid, sits back and sighs.

_Knowing him, it's going to be a lot more money than I actually need_. He's not going to complain, because he knows it's useless to argue with Quatre anyway. He just shakes his head, sits on the floor next to Adie, and steals some of her Cheerios. He feels like he's on the run, back when he had no choice but to crash in some shitty safehouse in the middle of nowhere.

But at least then he had _him_. He gathers Adie in his arms and rests his chin on top of her head as she focuses all her attention on the bright colours of the children's cartoon.

_Nothing in life is ever simple_.

Heero packs the few items he decided to bring with him. When he left, he took all of his belongings, and what he didn't need, he sold so they had some money. Most of it consists of clothes and things that can't easily be replaced or hold sentimental value to him. He realises as he zippers up the duffel bag that he's not wearing his wedding ring, stares at his hand and wonders briefly where it might be when he remembers he'd pawned it for money when they'd exhausted everything else. He shrugs.

_It's not like it matters anymore,_ he thought. _It's not like I'm married._

He pats down the pockets of his jeans to make sure he's got the important things in life—namely his wallet. There's approximately ten dollars left in it, which wouldn't help a pickpocket in these parts of the world, and converting it to credits would yield him even less, maybe five if he's lucky. Adie's still in front of the television like she was yesterday morning, and the morning before...all of their days here just blur in his mind.  
"Come on, Adie. Time to pack up."

He helps Adie pack up her things, even less than what he's got—just a couple of changes of clothes and a stuffed animal or two. Enough to fit easily into a small carry-on bag.  
"Where we goin', Papa?" she asks, as she looks at him with her deep blue eyes.  
Heero cocks his head to the side, shrugs as he slips the strap of the duffel over his shoulder. "Home." He holds out his hand, which Adie takes and holds on tightly, her other hand clutching her thread worn teddy bear.  
"Where 'home'? Back with Mama?"

Heero sees nothing but blackness darted by specks of light, some bigger than others, some brighter; sees nothing but Earth as a sphere he could easily hold with two hands and admire like one might a globe.  
"No, Mama's not coming with us. We're going to the Colonies. My home."  
Heero's heart aches as he pictures something else as well, someone else covered in shadow. Hopefully he's still there, waiting for him.

He doubts it, but he hopes nonetheless.

He shuts the door on this chapter of his life, hands in the keys to the motel desk clerk before getting everything in the car he'd gone out and rented. First stop is at that money transfer place three blocks away so he can pick up the money Quatre sent. Then it's off to buy two shuttle tickets after finding out where the nearest shuttle launch port is.

It's been two years already, but this isn't where he wants to be—isn't where he wanted to be. Earth isn't where he feels he belongs.

He enters the money transfer service building, fills out a short form, shows his ID. He doesn't care how they give him his money, so he watches as they count out hundred bills.  
"There was also a note along with the money," says the clerk, as a receipt confirming the money amount pops out, along with the note. She circles it on the receipt tape. "Right at the bottom."

The note is an address, and underneath that it says, _I think he'll appreciate seeing you_. Heero stows both the money and the note in his inside jacket pocket before returning to the car, making sure Adie's still safely tucked in her seat before taking off towards the shuttle port.

Heero's passport doesn't have his name on it—or rather, the right one. For this trip he is Aidan Clark, and his daughter is named Samantha. Some habits are hard to break, and the less people know who he is, the faster everything goes. He's got the cash and address clipped together and secured inside his jacket so there's no risk of losing it, and passing through customs and security is no problem. He feels a little underdressed considering most people who travel in between Earth and the Colonies are dignitaries or rather influential political figures. His seat is thankfully towards the back of the shuttle, and there's only a few others on board with him. He glances over each and every once as well as securing, in his mind, the windows and the emergency exit.

Old habits die hard.

Once the shuttle clears the runway and lets loose from the launching ramp, a wave of something—relief, maybe?—surges over him. He can breathe easier now, though he's not exactly sure why. He's himself again, not the husband of so-and-so. Just Heero. Or, in Adie's case, Papa. Despite the fact Earth is beautiful, it's not his home, and he has no love for it otherwise. Adie fidgets in her seat, unfamiliar with the insides of airplanes, let alone shuttles, and even less familiar with the view from her window, but it keeps her occupied, and Heero is thankful for that.

"Papa, I feel lighter," she remarks, her nose and hands pressed against the glass of the window.  
"That's just the low gravity," Heero explains. "You'll be fine."  
"Why's there low gravity?"  
"Because there's some in the shuttle, but none out there." Heero doesn't feel like launching into an explanation his almost-three-year-old won't understand.  
"Why's there no air in space?"  
Heero shrugs. He doesn't know why there's no atmosphere either, at least not without being complicated.  
"Someone forgots to put air?" She's still looking out the window. "Maybe they runned out of air and couldn't get more?"  
"...Something like that."

When they arrive at the port, a familiar blond is there waiting for them, a smile plastered on his face as always as he waves, because that's how Quatre is—or at least seems. Heero can tell how happy Quatre is to see him, in fact, because the blond rushes up to him and throws his arms around him. Quatre's gained a few inches in height, but he's still shorter than Heero, and the thought makes him smirk just a little.  
"Welcome home," says Quatre, chin just barely touching Heero's shoulder. He releases him from the hug, as if realizing what he'd just done. Heero doesn't mind the contact at all—there was a time when he hated being touched, but that was then, this is now.  
"Last time I saw you, we were about the same height." Heero chuckles as Quatre frets over him like he always has. His eyes flicker to the blonde haired child at Heero's side and he smiles at her softly.

"Who's this?"  
"Adie," Heero says, and her eyes look to him immediately. "This is your Uncle Quatre. Say hi."  
She hides behind her father's leg instead, and Quatre laughs.  
"She's not used to people," Heero says, and even he can hear just how bitter he sounds. "It's been just the two of us for a while."  
Heero watches Quatre's smile falter, and he knows Quatre wants to ask what happened, why she's not used to interacting with others. Because Heero would wonder the same thing too if he were him. Heero shrugs in his 'I'll tell you later' dismissive way he knows Quatre will pick up on, and gestures with his head for them to leave. Quatre nods and says something Heero doesn't understand to Rasid, probably something like "we're ready to go." Heero knows a few languages, but Arabic isn't one of them.

Adie clutches to his fingers so hard he's surprised he still has feeling in them, as they make their way outside. Heero's surprised to see an average looking sedan instead of some fancy limo, or even a fancy car, and Quatre pats his shoulder.  
"It's not a limo if that's what you expected. I figured you wouldn't be up for that, so I sprung for something less...fancy."  
Rasid opens the door and Adie crawls in first, followed by Heero, with Quatre bringing up the rear before the door shuts and Adie fumbles with her seatbelt. Heero helps her get settled before she leans against his arm, arms still clutching her teddy bear, her only friend in the world.

That thought pierces through Heero's heart, makes him feel cold.  
It's just him and the bear. That's all she has. They don't even have a home anymore, and they probably won't for a while, just some hotel room.

In Heero's pocket is the letter he'd written last night and never sent, the one beginning with "Dear Duo" and ending with "I hope we can meet again." It's less like a letter and more like a wish, and by bringing it with him, he hopes that maybe, just maybe, his wish will come true.

He doubts it, but he can still hope, right?

_Just the two of us_, Heero thought, _a worn out bear, and a suitcase filled with unsent letters, broken hearts, and painful memories._


End file.
